SUMMERS FREEDOM

by Ruth Wind

  "You'll be back," Joel said, his heart tight. "You'll see."

  Thursdays were Maggie's only certain day off, and she reveled in the chance to sleep late and start the day as lazily as she could. A little after one, her grandmother came over with a copy of the Wanderer and a rich selection of pastries in a square white bakery box to share over coffee. It was a Thursday afternoon ritual.

  Since she hadn't seen the paper yet, Maggie was particularly glad to see her grandmother. "I was so worried this wouldn't get out on time," she said, eagerly snatching the tabloid-size weekly.

  "Goodness, child," Anna said in her Texas-shaded drawl. "What in the world happened to you?"

  "Oh, I forgot you hadn't seen me. Come on." Maggie led the way through the living room to her spacious, sunny kitchen before she answered, shaking open the paper as she walked. When she saw the photo covering a solid three-quarters of the front page, she grinned, turning to show her grandmother. "This is what happened," she said with a chortle. "Isn't that gorgeous?"

  Anna, dressed in a pale green shirtwaist dress with splashes of pinkish flowers, made a clucking noise. She poured a cup of coffee. "I suppose you were right in the thick of it."

  "Not intentionally, but yes, that's where I ended up." Maggie smiled as she examined the photo more closely, a good action shot of the crowd, with the demonstrators in the background and an angry boy in leather raising a fist in the foreground. His fist pointed perfectly to the hand-lettered sign in the background that read End Violence in Our Music. Ban Proud Fox. "Beautiful," Maggie said with a sigh. "The kids are going to love it."

  "Which kids?"

  "My readers, Grandma. The ones that buy the paper, remember?"

  "Well," sniffed Anna, "I think it looks like you support that vile music. You're giving this whole thing so much attention."

  "You know better." It was old ground. The war over the band Proud Fox had been raging for two months. "I think they write reprehensible lyrics and that they're not behaving responsibly. But you know what they say about free speech. It's not free unless everybody has it."

  Anna opened the box of pastries. "No sense in us arguing about it again." A frown wrinkled her pale white skin as she arranged the sweet rolls on a plate, then took a seat at the table. "That cut looks pretty serious, Maggie. Are you sure you're all right?"

  "Fine." Maggie paused to look at herself in the mirror behind her plant shelf. Aside from the neat arch that sliced through her eyebrow, extending an inch into her forehead, she also had a colorful black eye. She brushed her straight, tawny hair away from the wound and turned back to her grandmother. "I'll live." She selected a cheese Danish from the plate on the table and sat down. "Better me than Samantha."

  "She was there?"

  "Wearing a leather jacket, yet."

  "Ye gods. See what I mean?"

  Maggie chose her words carefully. "None of this would be happening if those who didn't like the band ignored it." The Danish was perfect, and Maggie sighed. "Sam's just going through some kind of identity crisis or something right now."

  "Are you going to let her stay with her dad this summer?"

  "Of course I am."

  Anna dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin, her cornflower-blue eyes snapping as she gazed at her granddaughter. "He's no good for her."

  "I disagree." Maggie straightened in her chair and cocked her head, puzzled. "Are you angry with me about something? You're not exactly cheerful today."

  For a moment, Anna measured Maggie. "I'm worried about you. I don't like this job, and I think you've got more than you can handle in your stepdaughter, and you won't accept help from anybody." She stood up briskly and carried her coffee cup to the counter. She paused there for a moment. "I spoke with your mother this morning."

  Aha, Maggie thought.

  "She's talking about divorce again."

  Maggie eyed a bear claw, trying to decide whether to have a second. "Big surprise."

  "I didn't raise her to be like this. Three marriages, all in the dumps. What's wrong with her?"

  "Well, I can't speak for the second and third, but my father was not a gem of a man," Maggie said. "I think she was brave to stick it out for the twenty years she did." What Maggie's mother did was her own business. The two had never been close, and over time had drifted apart to the point that they corresponded only infrequently. If pressed, she would have said she loved her mother but that they had nothing at all in common. Maggie's true parent was—and always had been—her grandmother.

  She went to Anna and hugged her. "Mom's a big girl now, and you did the best you could. Let the rest go."

  Anna nodded, and when Maggie released her, peered out the window over the sink. "How are the lilacs doing this year?"

  Maggie poured a second cup of coffee and glanced out. "Not quite open yet, but they'll be pretty in a few days."

  "Who's that man out there, Maggie?" Anna said sharply.

  Maggie felt her heart flip oddly as she leaned over, bumping Anna's shoulder as they both looked out the window. There, admiring the buds on a semicircular bank of lilac bushes, was her new neighbor. "Joel Summer," she said quietly. He wore shorts this afternoon, and his legs, Maggie thought, were a sight to behold—winter pale but sturdy and corded with muscle. His hair in the daylight was dark chestnut, flicking sparks of deep red light when he moved his head.

  As she watched, a stray tomcat wandered through the yard, a cat as big, in his own way, as the man who crouched to call him.

  "Good luck," Maggie said. The cat had been mistreated at some point, then left behind to fend for itself. It wandered the streets, slept on convenient porch swings, accepted food when it was offered but disdained human touch.

  "What a scruffy cat," commented Anna.

  "I feel sorry for him," Maggie said, and smiled, for in spite of Joel's cajoling, the black-and-white cat veered off to the left and plopped down in a patch of grassy sunlight. Joel stared at him for a moment, then stood and went back into his house.

  A minute later, he emerged with a can of tuna. He carried it toward the cat, talking and approaching slowly. A few feet away, he put the can down and backed off to squat nearby.

  The cat was antisocial but far from stupid. As if expecting a blow at any minute, he moved toward the can, keeping an eye on Joel, who continued to talk to the animal but didn't move. It ate with the kind of desperation born of long-term hunger, gobbling as quickly as he could.

  "That's kinda sweet," Anna said.

  Maggie nodded. "He seems like a nice person—works with eagles and hawks, he said."

  Anna lifted an eyebrow teasingly. "More than just nice," she teased. Her laugh was surprisingly ribald and bold, coming from the mouth of such a refined-looking woman.

  "Come on away from the window, Gram," Maggie said dryly. "We have to watch your blood pressure."

  "Oh," Anna said, disappointment thick in her words. "The cat ran off, got scared."

  Maggie glanced back out. Joel hadn't moved and he watched the departing cat with a pensive expression on his face. She looked at her grandmother. "I have to admit he's good-looking."

  "Now you come on away from the window," Anna said. "Don't want your blood pressure going up."

  "Oh, please," Maggie protested, and laughed as she took her chair. "Men are like flowers, strictly for admiring."

  Anna halted in the center of the kitchen, hands on her hips. Maggie thought her grandmother was about to offer some proverbial injunction about the comforts of a husband in old age. Instead, she let go of another ripe laugh. "If you think looking at a man like that is enough, you've been working too hard."

  Maggie rolled her eyes and picked up the bear claw. "Forget it, Gram. I'm not interested. Men are terrific for about six months, then you have start picking up socks and changing the channel so they can watch their ball games." She wrinkled her nose. "And they all want you to cook. Ugh." With a grin, she added, "Sharon calls it PMS—Permanent Male Syndrome."

  Anna nodded appreciatively, her corn
flower eyes sparkling. Then she patted her white collar into place. "The right man can make it all worthwhile."

  "Hmm…" Maggie murmured. As she focused on the flavor of brown sugar and pecans, she remembered the way Joel had described a prairie falcon in his resonant voice, the way he had searched for a word to describe the birds he worked with.

  She heard his voice utter the word again. Magnificent.

  Resolutely, she shut it out. "What else did my mother have to say this morning?"

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  Late Friday night, Joel heard the waffling rumble of souped-up cars on the street outside. A car door slammed, and shortly afterward the front door next to his own was opened and closed.

  Moments later, a high, hysterical teenage voice raised in protestation seeped through his walls. Although he turned up the late movie, a rare showing of The Maltese Falcon, he could still make out an argument. Only the tone drifted through, but even that made Joel feel like a spy. After a few moments, he clicked off the television and headed out the back door.

  Outside, cool air touched his bare forearms. He stretched hard and settled on the steps, leaning backward on his elbows to look at the sky. Just over the treetops loomed the shadow of the mountains, their tips twinkling with the red lights of radio and television towers. Higher, stars shone brilliantly in a sky free of dingy pollutants, thanks to a rain that afternoon.

  It was a pattern he had forgotten in his years away—the clouds that rolled in with an ominous rumbling by four every day throughout the spring and early summer. Some days, lightning cracked and burst as the rain fell in torrents for twenty or thirty minutes. Other days, there would be a whispering of moisture, like a mist. Always, the clouds moved on by dinnertime, leaving the air fresh, the night sky sparkling. He let his head fall back in thankfulness, thinking perhaps he would find a telescope somewhere.

  The back door twin to his own suddenly slammed. Joel straightened curiously. A figure moved into sight. Maggie. Her heavy, honey-colored hair shone around her shoulders, and she wore a straight cotton skirt with a simple, long-sleeved T-shirt. She collapsed on the back steps, dropping her head to her knees in a posture of defeat.

  Now what? Joel thought. She obviously hadn't seen him. He didn't want to startle or embarrass her.

  He coughed.

  Her head flew up and she turned toward him. "You scared me," she said. She stood up.

  Joel jumped to his feet. "You don't have to go." He'd been restless and hungry for company all evening. "It's your backyard, too."

  She smiled, acknowledging the reference to her words earlier in the week.

  He crossed the grassy area between them and stood at the foot of her stairs. "I can offer you a beer," he said with a quick lift of his eyebrows.

  For an instant, Maggie said nothing. He was close enough that she could have stretched out a hand to touch his powerful shoulders beneath the blue cotton. There was something oddly familiar about him, something she couldn't quite place. "Do I know you from somewhere?" she asked.

  "Another life." His words held only the barest note of teasing, so that for a moment she couldn't tell if he was serious or not. The amusement on his face gave him away.

  Maggie laughed. "Oh, yes. You were that wretched sea captain."

  "Were you my promised bride?"

  "No." She lifted her chin. "Your maiden aunt, irritated with you for running off to sea and leaving your mother a nervous wreck."

  He grinned and his rather severe features were transformed into an irresistibly boyish expression. Dimples, she noted with an inward sigh. How could one man have been gifted with such an array of physical perfections?

  "Let me make it up to you, Auntie," he said.

  "And well you should," she returned.

  "I'll be back in a flash." He gave a salute and a bow.

  As soon as he departed, Maggie wondered what she was doing. But the choice was a simple one—stay outside in the company of another adult or go inside and listen to Samantha weep over her punishment. She sank back down onto the steps.

  Joel returned with two long-necked bottles of beer. "I never could resist a woman who drank her beer from the bottle," he said with a smile, handing her one.

  "That sounds like an innuendo," Maggie said.

  He laughed. "No, that's not what I meant."

  "In that case," she said with a smile, "thanks for the reassurance. I keep trying to develop a ladylike taste for Chablis or cognac, but I can't seem to pull it off." She sipped gingerly. "Old habits die hard. I started drinking beer in college and never have found anything I liked as well."

  "Beer's got heart."

  "I guess it does." He stood at the bottom of the steps and Maggie shifted, gesturing toward the lower stair. "You can sit down if you like."

  "Thanks." He settled just below her and immediately seemed to fill every available inch of space. The shapely arms and broad thighs crowded her field of vision, and as he relaxed on one elbow, his forearm warmed her shin without quite touching it.

  "So," she said, trying to distract herself, "how are you doing with the cat?"

  "You mean the old torn?"

  "I saw you with the can of tuna yesterday."

  Joel sighed. "He's a tough case." He looked at Maggie. "Do you know anything about him?"

  "He's been around as long as I've lived here—about two years. I feed him in the wintertime." She pointed to a loose board on the cellar door. "And he crawls in there when it's cold."

  "He's probably been abused."

  "Poor thing. I wish you luck." She frowned. "I thought you were a bird man. Why would you want to save a cat?"

  A throaty chuckle rumbled into the still night. "The kind of birds I'm interested in would make short work of that cat."

  Maggie smiled. "I guess I'm used to Tweety and Sylvester."

  "That cat probably can't kill birds anymore, anyway. Even if he could, I wouldn't dislike cats just because they hunt birds." He looked up to the treetops, as if seeing doomed prey. "A robin kills a worm, a cat kills a robin, an eagle carries off a cat—it's the natural cycle."

  "That's a terrible thought," Maggie protested.

  He looked up at her, his clear eyes sober. "Not really," he said. "When you can see the overall design of nature, the checks and balances, the predators and the prey, it's incredible." He paused, giving a sad twist to his lips. "It's only when mighty humanity gets involved that the balance falls completely out of whack."

  "You know," Maggie said. "It's funny you're bringing that up—I thought so much about pollution this past winter." She leaned forward. "On the days the carbon monoxide looked like fog on the ground, I kept worrying about the prairie dogs and the squirrels and all those other little creatures that had no idea why they couldn't breathe. I kept wondering what would happen to them." She laughed. "Naturally, I interviewed an expert for a story."

  "I'm sorry I missed reading it." He inclined his head. "As terrible as things seem right now, people are a lot more aware of ecology than they were thirty years ago. I like to think that's progress."

  "Too bad it took such dramatic illustrations to get our attention."

  "No, we just have to go from here." He straightened abruptly and his arm grazed her leg as he lifted his beer, then he glanced almost shyly at Maggie over his shoulder. "Don't get me going on this," he warned. "I'll climb right up on my soapbox and start making speeches. You're a good listener."

  "Not always," she said honestly.

  "I'll wager, just the same, that you write the advice column in your newspaper."

  Maggie laughed. "Guilty."

  "Those kids ask some tough questions—questions I don't know if I could answer."

  "It's easy when you're not involved," she said, thinking of Samantha with a pang. Maggie had overreacted tonight. She'd even realized it in the middle of the argument, but by that time Samantha had been half-hysterical and there had been no choice but to send her to her room to cry it off.
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  Samantha was hiding something. And it hurt. No matter how well Maggie had succeeded in walling herself off from the rest of the world, she couldn't help feeling a sharp stab of sorrow over her daughter's dishonesty. It hurt to know that Samantha thought she couldn't trust her.

  Joel said nothing as Maggie drifted, obviously awash in deep thoughts he had no wish to disturb. Instead, he enjoyed the opportunity to study her. Her skin was tawny, even so early in the year, and in spite of the bruises and stitches surrounding her left eye, he thought she was exotic and wild looking, with almond eyes and unusual slants in her face. Not everyone would think she was beautiful, he felt sure—but he wasn't everyone.

  Her mouth turned down as she mulled her problem, and with a weary gesture, she reached back to gather her hair into a ponytail, which she held loosely in her hand. The movement showed her graceful neck and the lobe of an ear pierced with an earring that shone golden against her flesh. Joel felt a restlessness stir in his belly, an almost forgotten sensation of desire.

  She looked at him suddenly as if reading his vaguely carnal perusal. "Sorry," she said, "I went off on a little walk of my own."

  "That's all right." He smiled.

  "How long have you worked with your birds?" Maggie asked, more comfortable shifting the conversation away from herself.

  "A long time—off and on." He glanced at his hands.

  Maggie sensed again his disillusionment or sorrow, but his tone of voice made it clear this line of conversation was a dead end. She studied him wordlessly. No matter what she'd told her grandmother about men, there was a lot more to Joel than the ability to grace the scenery. In fact, when she listened to him talk, she felt ashamed for assigning him such a trivial function.

  Still, it was hard to ignore his physical presence. From where she sat, the long column of his tanned throat showed at the open neck of his shirt, and she could see the whorl at his crown that governed the way his thick hair grew. Her gaze fell on his lips, full and firm and ripe. She allowed her gaze to linger for the barest instant, then looked away.